


Breakfast for Dinner

by SapphoIsBurning



Series: A WWE Roman-tic Come-Dean [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bottom Roman, Hurt/Comfort, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Ramen noodle mention, Top Dean, after Survivor Series, feels about the Shield, implied past dean ambrose/roman reigns/seth rollins, what else do you need to know?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, are you generating a lot of power, or are you receiving a lot of power right now?” asked Dean as he fingered Roman fast and hard, the way he knew he liked it.</p><p>“Shut your fucking mouth,” grunted Roman.</p><p>(After Roman's win and then sudden loss of the title to Sheamus at Survivor Series, Dean comes to Roman's hotel room to distract him. Sexually.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast for Dinner

There was the spear. And then the other spear. And then there was the pin. And then there was the referee, and the raising of the hand, and the confetti.

And then he lay there for a while, while time in the arena moved on without him. He fought his brother and he won, and then they were both on their feet. The crowd was screaming but he couldn’t hear it over the sound of his own heart.

Dean pulled him into an embrace. An actual hug. Roman was tense, and then let himself be embraced. This was real. Dean would let him have this. “I love you. You earned this,” he felt Dean say in his ear. And then Dean kissed him on his head, and left the ring.

The dazed feeling of Dean’s embrace lingered as the HHH entrance music played, and Hunter came to the ring to congratulate Roman and offer him a deal with the devil, again. And he turned it down, again, and threw in a spear for good measure. It felt good until it didn’t.

Sheamus was behind him. Sheamus brogue kicked him in the face and took him down. Roman kicked out, but there it was again: a powerful kick from an obnoxious man, and after two grueling matches in one night, a pin he could not escape.

He lay there in disbelief, confetti sticking to his face and hair. Sheamus took the belt. He shook Hunter’s hand, and they left the ring to the sounds of his Irish pipes. And Roman just lay there, trying not to cry. He tweaked his jaw, testing it, hoping it wasn’t broken. He breathed in and out, checking his ribs. And he felt his lip quivering just as much as he felt the cameras on him.

And then it was over, and he was making the walk of shame back to the locker room, people’s back pats and comforting words rolling off of him, only the shame and disappointment clinging. He got dressed in a daze, walked out to his rental car in a daze, got to the hotel in a trance. You never get used to having your dreams snatched away; you only learn how to be numb afterward so you can keep going without feeling your heart break every time you see someone holding what should be yours.

He checked in and went to his room, flopping down on the bed. He thought about throwing on the TV. He and Dean and Seth used to watch Family Feud and Wheel of Fortune and every terrible game show when they could, when they all used to pile into one hotel room to save money. It was nice when they finally started making enough money to get their own rooms, but it was also lonely.

They used to cook ramen in the coffee makers and crank the air conditioning as cold as it could physically go. They’d hit up a drugstore for supplies and help Seth bleach his hair. They’d order the greasiest Chinese food they could find and treat the king bed as a buffet table. Sometimes this made it hard to sleep on later.

At first they would cram into one room and also try to carve out as much personal space as possible. Dean on the couch, Seth on a rollaway cot or the floor, Roman on the bed because he was the crankiest if he didn’t sleep well. But Roman kept waking up finding Dean curled up into a ball at his feet on one side of the bed and Seth aggressively spooning him from the other. No one would ever know they slept together like a pile of puppies if they didn’t tell anyone, right? And no one would know how happy it had secretly made him, or if they ever did a little more than sleep in that big old hotel bed.

But here he was, as alone as he’d ever been, feeling more alone than when Seth betrayed him to win the title at Wrestlemania, thinking back to the good times when he never had to think twice about someone having his back, someone being there to give him what he needed.

And then someone knocked at his door. He lifted his head. “I don’t want any,” he shouted.

“Let me in,” a familiar voice growled. There was more heavy pounding on the door.

He dragged himself off the bedspread and opened the door to find Dean, disheveled and dragging a heavy duffel bag in one hand and a plastic grocery bag in the other. He was wearing jeans, but not the jeans he wore in the ring. They were pretty much the same jeans, just cleaner. He had found a clean non-ripped shirt, somewhere.

“They messed up my reservation and I don’t have anywhere to sleep tonight. Can I have the couch in here?” Dean asked.

“After tonight, that’s what you’ve got to say to me?” Roman replied.

“Well. Yeah. Also, you’ve got confetti in your hair.”

“Get your ass in here,” Roman scoffed, turning away from the door and going back to the bed. Dean followed him in and shut the door.

“Okay. I’ve got Top Ramen, I’ve got Pringles, I’ve got Chips Ahoy, and I packed a handle of Jack in my bag since you can’t buy liquor in Georgia on Sunday.”

“You were planning for this?”

“I was planning to have to slink back to my own hotel room in shame, to sneak out of your celebration to go be salty by myself.”

Roman tilted his head to the side and squinted at Dean. So when he wanted to comfort himself, he resorted to the same crappy food they got into before they made the big time?

“Hey, at least this means we can be salty together,” Dean said, bumping Roman with his arm. He casually picked a piece of confetti out of Roman’s hair.

“Is there any more?” asked Roman.

“Yeah, there’s a shitload stuck in the back. Hey, you got a brush?”

“Yeah, it’s in my bag, you know where.” Roman found the liquor and helped himself to a swig out of the bottle.

Dean fetched a hairbrush out of Roman’s battered duffel bag that he had never bothered to upgrade and sat down behind him on the bed.

“What would you do without me, Reigns?” he asked as he gently brushed Roman’s tangled hair, starting from the ends and brushing in short strokes, getting longer and longer as he worked his way to the top. He stopped every so often to pick the confetti out of the brush. Roman relaxed into the sensation of being cared for, being able to relax and having someone know exactly what he needed.

Dean finally worked his way to the top of Roman’s hairline, brushed a few more strokes all around, and then stopped. “Want me to braid it?” he asked, joking.

“Nah, you’d probably fuck it up,” Roman laughed, turning around.

Dean looked relaxed, the tension out of his jaw, his shoulders down. He rubbed at a dark purple bruise surfacing on his elbow. “What do you need, Roman?” he asked. “You got everything out of me there was to get on the mat. But I think I got a little bit more for right now.

“What do _you_ need, Dean?” Roman asked, passing him the bottle of Jack.

“About a case of vicodin, a bed made of the stuff they make teddy bears out of, Hunter’s head on a spear--ooh, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Keep going.” Roman scooted closer.

“Breakfast for dinner. A new world order. I need people to pop for you at Raw and at every pay-per-view because I am sick and tired of people booing the goddamn best man I have ever known…” Dean dropped his head.

“And you’d have made all that happen if you were champion?”

“What do you think? It’s not an election. But a man can dream.”

“He can.” Roman put his hand on Dean’s thigh. He was hot through the tight denim.

“Is that what you need?” Dean asked, setting the liquor bottle down.

“Isn’t it what we both need?” replied Roman, sliding his hand higher, up to Dean’s fly, unbuttoning it, unzipping it.

Dean’s hands found the hem of Roman’s shirt, bringing it up and over his head. He ran his hands up and down Roman’s biceps. “God, you are a goddamn Disney prince. You’re like a cartoon!”

“You’re the cartoon.” Roman wrinkled his brow and leaned in to nose at Dean’s neck, which made him squirm. He kissed him there, biting and sucking, hoping he could hide one bruise in among the many others that had emerged over the course of that evening.

Dean arched his back, kicking his legs. He got to work on Roman’s fly while trying to kick off his own pants. It didn’t work: they caught on his motorcycle boots. “Sorry,” he said, breaking Roman’s kiss to work on unlacing them. Roman took the opportunity to get his own pants and boxers off. When Dean emerged, shoeless, Roman reclined naked on the bed with his hands behind his head.

Dean rolled his eyes and dove on his cock, surprising Roman out of his confident posture and making him swear. Dean sucked him down to the root, suppressing a gag to work Roman with his tongue and mouth, grabbing a handful of ass with his free hand.

“Christ almighty. Oh god, oh god Dean,” Roman sputtered. “Why do you...always...like you’ll never get to do it again.”

Dean looked up and made eye contact.

“No, not the blowjob eyes!” Roman moaned, looking away. “God, Dean, you know I’d do anything…” He looked down again at the man sucking him down like he was starving for cock and Roman was the only one handing it out.

“I’m gonna...oh God, oh--Dean!”

Roman came down the back of Dean’s throat, yelling his name. He idly hoped that nobody else on the circuit was sharing a wall with him, but maybe he could brush it off as cursing his name instead of shouting it with affection, with love.

Dean swallowed and licked his lips.

“Nasty,” said Roman.

“Spitting’s nastier, where am I going to do it? Back on you?”

“Dean, please, fuck me.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Shit, I was just going to jerk off on your chest. Don’t gotta ask me twice.” He dashed off to rifle through Roman’s duffel for supplies. They were in the same place as the hairbrush had been, after all. Roman wasn’t subtle, but he was consistent.

Roman lay back and closed his eyes. For a moment, he remembered lying this way in the ring in his moment of defeat. And then he felt a cold, slippery finger touching his asshole, and it brought him right back to the present. Fucking was great for that.

“So, are you generating a lot of power, or are you receiving a lot of power right now?” asked Dean as he fingered Roman fast and hard, the way he knew he liked it.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” grunted Roman.

“Or what, you won’t jump on my cock anymore? You’d be missing out.”

Dean withdrew his fingers and snapped a condom on himself. He slicked himself up with more lube out of the plastic tube and lined himself up. Roman kicked his heels up to rest his knees on Dean’s shoulders, like he knew Dean liked it. And then Dean grabbed Roman by the hips and fucked into him as hard and dirty and fast as he did everything else in life.

Roman tried to let all his thoughts slip away and to stay in the moment: Dean digging his nails into him, Dean slumping forward and bending Roman further in half at the waist, Dean talking, talking talking.

“I’m going to come in you so hard it’s going to leak out your eyeballs. I’m going to make you see things, see me wherever you look for the next week, the next year, you are going to be so totally fucked--”

“That I won’t think about how fucked I really am? Ugh--” Roman grunted as Dean thrust extra hard to interrupt that comment, sliding him up the bed and against the headboard.

“Stop. Fucking. Talking,” said Dean. “You’re mine right now, your ass is mine and your body is mine. It’s so fucking good baby, it’s everything I want.”

Their bodies fit together not so much perfectly as precisely; they did fit their bodies together for a living, so maybe it wasn’t a surprise that they could make them fit for pleasure as well. Roman was hard again, trying to get a hand on himself as well as to counter Dean’s aggressive thrusting.

Dean worked himself into a lather, howling and grunting and slapping Roman’s ass a little, where there was some unbruised skin that hadn’t been too battered by the earlier events of the night. He was cursing in English and Spanish and something Roman didn’t recognize, and he was calling Roman baby and his baby and telling him he was perfect and beautiful and saying he wanted him and needed him and--

With one staccato yell Dean came, and Roman found himself spilling over his own hand as well. Dean was frozen still, panting and gritting his teeth, until the last shivers stopped. He grabbed the base of the condom as he pulled out, dropping Roman’s legs off his shoulders and setting him gently back down on the bed.

Dean knotted the condom, tossed it in a wastebasket, and grabbed a wet towel from the bathroom.

“Look at me being a gentleman,” Dean said, wiping Roman down gently. “Back in the day I just made you lie in the wet spot.”

“Am I really everything you want?” asked Roman, feeling suddenly emotional in the post-coital glow. “We both want a lot of things.”

“Eh. It’s close enough,” Dean said, raising one eyebrow. “And if life says I can only have one thing I want, I definitely want you. You’re my thing.”

Dean cleaned himself, dropped the towel on the floor, and crawled into the bed, pulling down the bedspread they hadn’t bothered to turn down and tucking the blankets back up and over them.

“Now go the fuck to sleep.”

“When are we going to eat all that ramen?”

“Dinner for breakfast,” Dean said sleepily as he tucked his head into Roman’s neck and the two of them drifted off together. They could face anything that came at them, together, but not until the morning.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I should say, being broke and eating ramen and the Shield all piling into a hotel room with one bed is something Dean talks about on the episode of Table for 3 with him, Kevin Owens, and Cesaro. It's a really good episode.


End file.
